


Kingsman: The Third Option

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Action, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Car Chases, Character Death Fix, Comedy, Crack, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Hartwin, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Kingsman: The Golden Circle Spoilers, M/M, Meta, Paradox, Romance, Sharks, Tropes, What Have I Done, crossreferences, meta jokes, no animals were harmed, other relationships implied, this makes no sense, very silly, you name it...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 04:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12204288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: The Kingsman crew must take out a diabolical director before they can make a sequel that threatens everyone they love.A gentleman spyA far fetched plotA gay romanceComplete fourth wall obliterationAproperfix-it fic.





	Kingsman: The Third Option

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I actually quite liked TGC, I think. Certainly didn’t hate it enough to send an assassination squad after Matthew Vaughn, but this popped into my head as a joke with myself and then I couldn’t let it drop, so I wrote it largely in one sitting which is a first for me. 
> 
> The title is a reference to the movie trope in which the hero(es) take an option they weren't presented with and usually end up saving the day. - http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TakeAThirdOption
> 
> With heartfelt thanks to Emphysematous, RileyOut, Smith and my three clients who didn’t turn up today. Unbetaed, and I don't need a Brit picker because I'm from fucking Hackney. As such, if you want me to look over anything you're writing HMU, my tumblr's at the bottom.
> 
> Be forewarned: this is very, very silly. Heed the tags.

When the emergency comms link comes online, Merlin is almost deafened by grinding metal, by gunfire and smashing glass and revving engines, and the sound of Eggsy capably taking out the _goons du jour_ with a persuasive combination of martial arts and breakdancing. It’s all pretty standard fare for a day in Kingsman, except what he hears next.

 “It’s Charlie. He’s still alive and still being a wanker!”

Only one of those things is entirely surprising. Maybe neither if Merlin thinks about it hard enough. Still, unflappable as ever, he begins tapping into infrastructure to see what he can do to help Eggsy remotely. Traffic control here, drone taxis there, but none of it’s easy with Eggsy grunting and yelping in his ear.

“Christ Merlin he's got an arm off! What the fuck is going on?”

“Sort him out and bring the arm back with you.”

Merlin says these things like they’re easy because he spends the majority of his life behind his desk and seems to be under the impression that you can just ‘sort out’ bionic super villains in the back of cabs, unarmed. Unarmed except for the fact you’re essentially trained to be a human weapon. And the fact that most of your accessories and most of the cab actually detach into gadgets with which you could easily kill a normal person… but not one who’s had all the training you do and has the advantage of being a quarter made of metal.

Eggsy doesn’t have time for shock. He’s taken out most of the henchmen with his thighs, lost his shoe knife and all but destroyed the cab. Sirens wail behind them and Charlie’s still in his face, coming at him too quickly for Eggsy to pin individual movement as he defends himself with ducks and dives and whatever he can pick up to smash at Charlie with.

“-the fuck are you doing here?”

The question catches Charlie off guard. The accompanying kick does not and he dodges it, lashing out and winding Eggsy with a blow to the stomach.

“You haven’t read the script, have you?” There’s a sneer to his voice, the word pleb under his tongue.

“What fucking script?”  A kick that slices the jagged remains of Eggsy’s shoe knife up the underneath of his opponent’s arm and makes a sickening  noise like cutlery on porcelain. A punch. Something slams down solid on Eggsy’s knuckles and he ignores the flare of pain to flip his arm back and throw it to take out whoever this bellend is that’s climbing through the cab’s broken windscreen.

He’s about to order a burn on whoever put a minibar in where there could’ve been more explosives when a fluke whack with a bottle severs Charlie’s body’s hold on his super-arm and leaves it inside the cab and him to fall beneath the wheels. It’s likely not the last he’ll see of him, nobody stays dead these days, but Merlin doesn’t give him time to think about it.

“Get the arm. Go to rendezvous Swan.”

So Eggsy tears it, in the remnants of the cab which now looks more like a golf cart, through artificially deserted Westminster streets - Merlin is in fact a legendr - into Hyde park and to the edge of the lake. He strongly suspects some of the parked cars he passes might be doggers, but he resists the traditional urge to shout as much at them because he’s mid mission and trying not to die.

Just as he is possibly expecting Rendezvous Swan to involve a wet suit and a dummy swan on a hat, but dismisses it for being a bit too ridiculous, a giant white plastic bird sails out of the evening mist, ably pedalled by Roxy.

“Get in, loser.”

“You are kidding.”

But it’s that or an improbable and unappealing network of interconnected sewer hideouts and Thunderbirds garages, so they perform a turn as quickly as they can manage - which is about three knotts - and fortunately the police take no notice of two young lovers scooting off across Hyde Park lake in a subtly weaponised pedalo, because they can’t see from that angle that one of them has a bionic arm shoved nonchalantly in his exceptionally well cut suit jacket.

It's not going to be a quiet night in, is it.

 

***

 

At headquarters, Eggsy slings the bionic arm on the table and it flails in a wide circle, short circuiting fingers scrabbling even though the hand itself is bound with cable ties and packed with air-hardening putty. For good measure, Roxy shoots it.

“Was that necessary, Lancelot?”

“It groped me on the way here!”

Merlin casts a glance at Eggsy who lifts both his hands in a gesture of innocence, not that anyone had really suspected him.

“As you know by now, Agent Galahad was accosted today by one of our failed recruits.” Merlin addresses a lot of people who aren’t there. They’re never there. Eggsy and Roxy are starting to suspect they’re the only agents who actually do any work. "Somehow he survived V-day and seems to have been recruited and weaponised by another organisation.”

“It’s alright,” says Eggsy, “I've disarmed him.”

“Good work, Galahad. Now, he said -”

“I've _disarmed him,_ Merlin.”

Merlin studiously ignores him, even whilst Eggsy is cackling and Roxy offers him a fist bump across the table. He’s had quite a bit of practice.

“Now, we've done some digging around his script comment and he's right, they're making us a sequel, and If you say spectacular I will find a way to blow your head up, implant or not -” Eggsy shuts his mouth. “… there’s good news and bad news.”

Everyone waits expectantly, as they are accustomed to doing because Merlin is nothing if not a drama queen.

“They were going to kill JB and Roxy. Your handiwork has foiled that for now-” Eggsy is so stunned he doesn’t even make the crack about handiwork despite the hand attempting to fondle its way across the glossy oak between them -  “But I can't imagine they'll just drop it at that, and we've found enough spoilers to know one thing… Harry is alive.”

“I knew it!” Roxy slams her hand on the table triumphantly, and in that loud split second Eggsy goes through no less than six facial expressions. Merlin just looks hopelessly confused. “Tumblr would have declared war,” she says, matter of fact. “Don’t underestimate the negotiating power of angsty fangirls who’ve had since 2014 to study elaborate weaponry.”

Merlin never argues with Roxy.

“Right. Plan of action: We need to visit our American cousins, rescue Harry, throw them off the plot long enough to go after the director before it all goes to shit. And then we've got Charlie boy to worry about.”

“Pretty sure he's ‘armless’...” smirks Eggsy, straightening his jacket.

“Eggsy. No.”

***

They infiltrate the hideout in a hail of gunfire and broad arcing sprays of whiskey that everyone pretends they can taste the quality of but it’s wet and sticky and by the time they make it as far as Statesman’s inner sanctum Eggsy is bruised, bleeding and having absolutely none of Agents Whiskey and Tequila’s respective shit. They’re all cable ties and lasso at the ready but he just levels a serious finger at them from outside the door to Harry’s cell.

“Unless you wanna get put in a meat grinder and a freezer respectively, back off and let us ‘ave him.”

They are, apparently, unaccustomed to being threatened by well dressed angry cockneys and step back in surprise. The watch pings the biometric locks and Eggsy boots the door in.

“Harry.” It’s a rush of breath more than a word. Harry is alive, unscathed save for the fact he’s wearing an eyepatch that Eggsy shouldn’t be surprised by considering he watched him get shot in the face, and not a bit less beautiful than when he last saw him. Alright, a tiny bit less beautiful because the last time Eggsy had got to look at Harry he was efficiently hacking his way through 40 bigots like a leggy six-foot-something murder machine and that was hot as fuck.

“Have we met?” Harry looks warmly but blankly, childlike, into Eggsy’s face and Eggsy only allows his heart to shatter ever so briefly before getting back on target.

Eggsy sighs affectionately. “Ain't got time for this, sillybollocks.”  He turns the dial on the face of his watch, aims, and darts Harry in the neck.

The transformation is instant.

“Eggsy? What did you just shoot me with? Where the hell are we?”

Everyone stares at Eggsy blankly as though he’s committed some sort of horrific faux pas, like the time he asked Percival how much his suit cost _in the shop_.

“What? They can nanobot neural pathways back together and we can't reverse our miraculous tried and tested amnesia tech? That makes no fucking sense at all. Nah. I Weren't having it. Come on.” He tucks his arm under Harry’s shoulders as if to support him on their way back to the jet, although he’s clearly physically recovered. The feel of his warmth through the thin cotton of his t-shirt is comforting, and it makes Eggsy’s heart race.

Eggsy’s had a whole lot of time to process his feelings for Harry, and then shut them in a ́neat little box which only tended to get opened when Roxy managed to persuade him to drink rosé.  They share looks, long and understanding, speaking volumes in the silence whilst Eggsy gathers suit and gadgetry to kit him back out again.

“You alright, Harry?”

Harry’s voice is quiet and soft.  “Never better. Apart from the whole…” he gestures weakly at the eyepatch before lifting it to show Eggsy the empty socket and the scarring underneath. “You'd have thought a team capable of reconstructive brain surgery could knock up a bionic eye, but apparently not.”

Eggsy looks resolute and touches Harry's arm. “Don't worry about it. It's dashing.”

It takes two martinis to catch Harry up on what he’s missed, up to and including the script that Merlin is in the process of decrypting, sending through dribs and drabs as it translates from the code. Eggsy is increasingly incensed, his gratitude at having Harry back within arms reach starting to be eclipsed by defensive, protective fury.

“He had someone threaten to eyefuck you! Legit, like Full Metal Jacket. And didn't even let me kill them.”

“Did I at least get a witty comeback?”

Eggsy makes a noncommittal _eehhh_ sort of noise and Harry grimaces.

***

Another martini slips down whilst Merlin works on cracking the rest of the screenplay so that they know what they're dealing with and, as expected, things get emotional. Eggsy must remember to tell Merlin he owes him two thirds of a bottle of bourbon, a cry and the most platonic of all  _ I love you man  _  outbursts at some point because it will probably do them good. Harry reaches his epiphany first and reaches for Eggsy’s hand on his martini glass. The touch is tentative but solid, somehow, grounding.

“Do you know what went through my head when I was shot?”

“A fucking nine mil?” Eggsy appreciates that is not at all funny to a man who was actually shot in the face. Nothing about this is funny at all, because Eggsy has seen how this plays out. “Nah, I know. Nothing.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I read it. Nothing. You go a big wet one over me having a girlfriend, which I don't by the way.. People do a lot of weird shit when the world is falling down around their ears, ain't no reason to go getting balls deep in commitment with Scandinavian royalty…” He sighs. “But this fucker wants  you to tell me to get on with it and you're all,  _ don't be old and lonely like me, I don't have anyone to care about, _ blah blah blah.”

“Well that is just absurd.” Harry sets his glass down and stares at it as askew as he can with one eye, like it’s the gin that’s told him to deny the boy he so obviously dotes on. He doesn’t let go of Eggsy’s hand.  “Have they even seen the way I am with you?  Or Is that supposed to be me valiantly setting you free by being cruel?”

“Fucked if I know.” Eggsy takes the glass with the other hand so that he can keep their fingers pressed together, and drains his drink. He’s gone pleasantly pink across the cheekbones. “Why ain't we got olives?”

There’s no reasonable answer to that, either. 

“No, I’m afraid that just won’t do.” Harry sets both their glasses back behind the bar and settles his hand resolutely on Eggsy’s hip, burning through the fabric of his shirt. “I should have told you how proud of you I was, and I should have done this.”

Harry pulls Eggsy close and kisses him. Just a press of lips first, the sealing of the point made, but then properly, deep and smooth in a way that leaves them both breathless and staring dumbstruck into each other’s eyes.

“Nope. Definitely didn’t read any of that.” Eggsy pushes up on to tiptoes and seals their mouths together again. There’s just enough hint of tongue to speak of heat but not too much, too soon, that wouldn’t be gentlemanly at all. Eggsy pulls away softly to breathe, to look into Harry’s eyes… eye, he’ll get used to that, no big deal...  “But there was a lovely extended metaphor about butterflies and you pinning me to a wall.”

“ _ There _ ’s an idea.”

Harry lifts him smoothly up and Eggsy’s strong legs come up to grip around his waist. He bears Eggsy’s weight briefly whilst he backs him against a wall before holding it there with the press of their bodies, hot and wanting, the kiss deepening with every second and of course that is the moment Merlin walks in.

“Gentlemen! Oh. Oh, well. About time.” Merlin hesitates by the doorway. “Only, I  Hate to break up a party but they've got me pulling the ‘bravely sacrificing self whilst singing’ trope.”

That's just about enough to pull Eggsy’s attention away. 

“ _ Oh _ no. No you fucking don't.”

“No intention, believe me. I don’t even  _ like _ country music.”

Harry puts Eggsy down and straightens his suit out. 

“I did wonder where that was going.  Who  _ is _ your favourite singer, in case it ever comes up?”

“Elton John.”

“Of course.”  It’s a shame, when Harry considers it, that completing the mission and stopping this whole plan in its tracks will mean there’s no opportunity to leave Merlin to pull a heroic rescue and get himself on guest lists for the rest of his natural days. It’s almost as though Eggsy knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Don't fucking bother, I'll sing you ‘I'm still standing’ when we get home yeah? I'll dress up and everything.” 

“No offence Eggsy, You didn't strike me as being able to do a convincing Elton John.”

“You'll be surprised.”

Merlin returns to the cockpit, and over the intercom they can hear the landing codes and answering permissions. Harry and Eggsy share a long, slow, heated kiss that finishes in Eggsy pulling away with a rueful grin. 

“Sorry love... Got to go and save the world.”

He quirks his eyebrow and they hold the gaze for a long moment, all challenge.

“Oh, fuck off.”

***

For a movie executive’s office building, it looks suspiciously like a megalomaniac’s lair, all cliff faces and anti-aircraft missiles which turn out to be made of polystyrene as they slip past them to land the unnoticed Kingsman jet. Merlin projects blueprints and surveillance that show all manner of weapons and boobytraps - nobody says boobytraps anymore, do they? - some of which appear to simply be props, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

“When you’ve neutralised the threat, we’ll be ready for takeoff. I’m staying right here.” Merlin might not have a choice in the matter: all his computers are within reach, he has the plane’s controls but his left ankle is cable tied to the chair, which is fixed into the floor. Harry and Eggsy have ensured he can’t move from the spot should he suffer from an outburst of uncontrollable heroism.

_ How’s that for fucking foreshadowing, dickhead _ . 

“And we need to get those puppies. Both of them.”   


Harry turns to look at Eggsy inquisitively. 

“What, I'm going to open one of them pug cafes. This spy nonsense is for  _ gimps _ , Harry. Ever wondered why we don't have workplace pension deductions? I’m too pretty to die young. You’re too pretty to die... at all.”

There isn’t time to work out if that’s an insult or a compliment.

“I'll go.”

“That's my girl, Rox.” Eggsy gives her a quick squeeze and Merlin, for some reason, looks a bit affronted. He waves them goodbye as they run out of the drop doors, suited and booted and armed to the teeth with things disguised as other things.

Once they’re out of the hangar, Merlin’s voice switches to the comms through the glasses. “Straight down that corridor. Avoid the circular saw… it’s behind a grille so you should be fine.” Villains who have had competent risk assessments done are highly underrated, in Merlin’s humble opinion. “Watch it lads, eight uncredited extras to your right.”   


Harry fires off six rounds: six men go down to perfect headshots. He strips the magazine out of the gun and stabs it straight through the neck of Henchman Seven, brings his elbow back to knock the eighth man out before snapping his neck. 

Eggsy is drooling. “Fuck, you’re getting it when we get home.”

They hurdle over rolling balls, dodge protruding spikes and dive into a long, industrial looking room. They’re running for the door, on full alert, when Eggsy sees the shift.

“Merlin! The walls are moving. Help!”

There are a couple of taps as Merlin checks the feed. Double checks it. 

“They're moving… away from you?!”

“Oh.” Eggsy squints - he might need actual glasses - and yes, the walls are in fact moving slowly apart, definitely not about to crush them. They keep running. “Cancel the help, then.”

“Make your way over the rope bridge.” Through the door there is, in fact, a very new looking rope bridge over a dark, rippling tank, but it leads to a well lit mezzanine room with a view and Eggsy has seen a limited amount of supervillain offices but they all look a bit like that.

“Dare we ask what’s in the water?”

“Sharks. With lasers.” 

Nobody bothers to challenge that, and as it turns out, the bridge holds and the sharks remain resolutely disinterested so it’s all a bit unnecessary. 

The room is an artistic dark red and obviously the inspiration for Harry’s office back home, the walls plastered with reviews and critiques of every spy film from Notorious to Goldmember. Movie memorabilia clutters every available surface, and a dramatic score plays from a jukebox in the corner. A director’s chair faces away from them, a stylised sparkling D embellished on the back. 

“I’ve done it,” announces the occupant of the chair, sensing that he has an audience. It doesn’t seem to matter who it is. “I’ve created the perfect spy movie.” Pause for effect. “Matthew Vaughn had some good ideas, but he was limited. He had  _ feelings _ . I have a  _ vision _ .” 

“You’re… not the director?” Eggsy stops in his tracks. “I literally have no idea what the fuck is going on.”

“Oh, I’m the director now.” A dark laugh, almost metallic. On the displays inside the glasses, the man’s silhouette acquires the caption ‘The Director’ and statistics start filling themselves out in electronic green. A crazed, sociopathic supergeek with a pathological aversion to happy endings and a fortunate weakspot in the science department. When did he replace the actual directing team? What happened to them? Conveniently demarcated only by asterisks and question marks.   “I can subvert every trope without mercy. It’s all there… the technicolour musical deaths, the kinky European damsel in distress, the self-referencing camp and celebrity guests and then Boom! Headshot: kill off the main characters. The critics will go wild.” Although he’s still addressing the back wall, it’s obvious an evil grin is spreading across his face. “ They’ll never see it coming, and nobody can stop me.” He begins a maniacal laugh, but is interrupted by Harry politely clearing his throat.

Directors’ chairs do not spin, so he has to stand to shuffle it round.

“See there, now…” begins Harry, sounding tired, “you’ve sacrificed function for aesthetic.” 

The director sees him, actually sees him, for the first time. 

“What the fuck?!”

“Harry Hart. I don’t believe we’ve had an opportunity to be properly introduced, although I don’t doubt you know me, perhaps as Agent Galahad.” He extends a hand and forces a polite handshake. “And this is my… Eggsy. Agent Ga - now see here, you’ve made a mess of all our nice code names -”

“-And you keep trying to kill my fucking dog!”

“Quite. As you can see, we’re most distressed by this version of events.” Harry pinches his trouserlegs just above the knee so they don’t pull when he perches on the edge of the desk and crosses one long leg over the other. “Let me teach you a lesson.”

Eggsy makes a strangled noise and resists the urge to sit down on the floor.

***

“How're you doing with those puppies, Lancelot?” 

Roxy is pleased to hear Merlin’s voice over the comms, and then realises what he’s said.

“Excuse me?!” 

It would probably be a less challenging innuendo if Roxy didn't have a pug and a cairn terrier cradled in the front of her blazer with one arm whilst she shoots anyone who gets in the way with the other. “Oh! Puppies... uh, canines recovered. Clear the corridors for me, Merlin, I'm coming back in.”

“You're a capable agent and an integral part of this franchise,  Roxy, you know that?”

“I know.” 

“Can you swing by and sort the lads out first? They're being melodramatic.”

“I'm on my way.”

***

“Ha - Wha -” He looks between Harry and Eggsy, behind them at his perfectly functional rope bridge and back at the men he cannot process the presence of. “How are you here?!”

“Makes as much sense as your  _ perfect  _ fucking spy movie,” snaps Eggsy, sounding for all the world like a petulant teenager. He pulls a gun and aims it at The Director.

“Eggsy." Harry is loving patience. "We can stop it all.”

For all the training, in the heat of the moment Eggsy still holds a revolver a bit like he's on the cover of a rap album. “No, I want to give this prick some fucking home truths first.” He steps forward, squaring his shoulders, gun still aimed. “How's my sister?!”

“What?”

“Exactly. She's fine thanks, not that you fucking care. She's just started year three. Mum’s gone back to work part time. Roxy and I have watched all of The Walking Dead, and I’ve learned to actually sew. Merlin has a girlfriend.” 

“ _ Eggsy…”  _ crackles the comms.

_ “ _ Or a boyfriend _ ,  _ I suppose but he's definitely knocking someone off on the quiet and thinks we don't know but we do, we just ain't sure who. Not that you care about any of that.

“Cheers for bringing Harry back though, that was a touch. We were gonna get him somehow, personally I'd have just gone for Valentine clipping him,  _ he wasn't even looking _ , but I'll take it.” He loses just a second to a sentimental sniff.  “But you can't tattoo with molten fucking gold, bruv. Gold melts at more than a thousand degrees, you’d barbecue yourself. You can't chuck a missile at my best mate and expect me not to be pissed off. You can't have us just go about  _ fingering _ people when there are literally a hundred other options. I will  _ not _ let you kill off my friends, I will not let you kill off or threaten any more dogs, you fucking freak, and if I’m marrying anyone, it’s going to be him.”

Eggsy points decisively at Harry, who clearly was not expecting it and does an admirable impression of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

The Director shifts uncomfortably. “Oh. I… I didn’t realise. I-”

In the comms, Merlin develops a vicious cough which sounds a lot like “ _ bullshit”.  _

“I'm afraid I have to agree.” Harry stands up, as though he might be clearing the way for Eggsy’s shot or just going to stand by his man. “You did in fact choose to cut out our rather lovely bonding over breakfast, which was at the time entirely platonic...”

“- _ More bullshit.-” _

“Really Merlin you must get that cough checked out. Can’t be too careful at our age.”   


_ “At our age! I’m not-” _

“I'm afraid it's too late.” The Director chuckles darkly, regaining the upper hand in the conversation.  “You can kill me, but production has already started. You're all doomed. Except you two, you're just going back to collecting dead things as a metaphor for your terminal loneliness and diving headlong into situations you aren't prepared for because you're a headstrong working class hero.”

“Nah.” Eggsy says it casually, the pure confidence of a perfectly delivered killshot. “ _ You _ gave us watches that can hack anything. Anything! Bionic arms, our own parallel agency’s tech… apparently not some bird’s twelve character password, but everything else.  And all the time I've been standing here monologuing, Harry’s been deleting all your scripts. All your screenplays. The first rushes of what's happened so far. All of it.

“Poppy never existed . Everyone goes back to normal. Charlie… I don’t know how that works but if he comes near me again I’ll rip his other arm off and stick it up his arse, don't you worry. And you… you’re not going to be telling anyone.”

Eggsy cocks his gun ominously, glances over at the shark tank, and a dart hits The Director in the back of the neck. 

Roxy stands triumphantly behind his slumped body with two tiny dogs at her heels, and Eggsy offers her a high five which clasps and pulls into a hug. 

“Poison?” Eggsy checks the coloured tab on the dart. “Amnesia. Good one.”

Harry pulls a thumb drive from somewhere… not an actual thumb, this time… and slots it into the computer. From a case in his jacket, he takes slim opaque goggles and fits them over the unconscious would-be director’s head. When Eggsy sees the lights of Virtual Reality display flicker to life inside the glasses, he looks at Harry for explanation. 

“Creating some memory to fill the gaps.” He takes a small moleskine notebook from an inner pocket and lays it on the desk, along with a few artful scraps of paper covered in butterflies. “Thought he might fancy a new life as a lepidopterist.” 

“That's brilliant, Harry.”

“Dramatic irony. I thought he'd approve.”

In the corner, the vintage jukebox starts playing Take Me Home, Country Roads.

Roxy shoots it.

***

In the warm welcome of the jet’s bar lounge, Harry and Eggsy are finally alone, together and without immediate threat. It’s bliss. They celebrate with martinis, of course - six parts gin, one moment’s silence for the vermouth, and two fucking olives, thank you. 

Harry raises his glass in toast, and when Eggsy steps closer to clink their glasses together, Harry grabs him around the waist and pulls him in for a proper kiss, since their last was so rudely interrupted.   


“We saved the world again.…” Eggsy picks up JB from the chair behind him, kisses the squirming pug on the head sets him down, where he skitters off to find his new playmates. 

Harry gathers him back into a close embrace, kisses him softly on the jaw and murmurs: “About time for a cheesy one liner and a fade out on a sex scene?” 

Eggsy grins at him. “Didn't think this was that kinda movie.”

“It isn't.” Harry loosens Eggsy’s tie enough that he can get under it and start undoing his buttons, pushing his hand in to get at skin and start to slip Eggsy’s shirt from his shoulders. “But this is definitely that kind of fanfic.”

From the control room Merlin’s voice is tinny, frantic but resolved as Harry’s jacket hits the floor, followed quickly by Eggsy’s trousers.

  
“Glasses, boys.  _ GLASSES. Oh, for fuck’s sake.” _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please accept this in leiu of the essay about genre subverting parallels I was twitching to write because my film studies tutor was a prize weirdo but surprisingly influential and as a result I have an A Level in homoerotic subtexts. Stick that in your allegorical pipe and suck it, Ian. 
> 
> If you need a cockney on call for your cultural references and to check over your dialogue - and I am *absolutely* game for recording your Eggsy lines so you can hear them in the accent, and the sillier the better - you can find me on Tumblr at randomactsofviolence.
> 
> Comments, prompts and whatnot give me life.


End file.
